


Some Assistance and Internet Research

by wine_and_song_and_stars



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fever, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Just everything I wanted in a Good Omens sickfic so I wrote it, M/M, Sick!Aziraphale, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-08 00:43:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20985149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wine_and_song_and_stars/pseuds/wine_and_song_and_stars
Summary: Aziraphale texts Crowley asking for help, and Crowley shows up to find his angel very sick in bed. As a demon, he's not really trained for this sort of thing, so he decides to do some research so he doesn't muck it up.





	Some Assistance and Internet Research

**Author's Note:**

> I lovelovelove all the adorable care fic in this ship, but there is so much good sick Crowley and not enough sick Aziraphale! I want to see the snek boi be sweet more often! So here's one to help even out the score.

*Ding*

Crowley took a moment from threatening his plants with the mister to glance at his phone.

*Crowley?*

The text from Aziraphale was annoyingly vague, and Crowley was in a mood, so he stuck the phone back in his pocket. The angel probably wanted to go for a picnic or some such. He would respond when he was done dealing with his unruly plant children.

*Ding*......*Ding*

He sighed and pulled out the phone again. If Aziraphale had sent him more than one text, he thought resentfully, it might actually be about something that mattered...

*I could really use some assistance at the bookshop.*

*Only if it’s convenient though, dear.*

Crowley’s frustration vanished; he snapped his fingers and his coat appeared around his shoulders. He was out the door before he’d even finished reading the second text. Aziraphle calmly asking for “assistance” was the equivalent of anyone else texting, “PLEASE HELP,” and it was only the reassurance of the second message that caused him to drive the Bently over instead of just miracleing himself into the angel’s flat.

When he arrived, he found the shop closed, waved a hand to undo the lock, and let himself in. There was a strange feel about the place. Not sinister or demonic, but bleak in some way that made Crowley’s stomach flip with anxiety. Aziraphale was nowhere to be found, so he hurried up the stairs into the flat where he and the angel had been spending an increasing amount of time lately.

He didn’t know what he was expecting but was surprised to find Aziraphale curled up asleep in the oversized bed (Crowley had miracled it up the first night he stayed over to replace the horrible, unused bunk that had lived in the bedroom previously). He moved closer to his sleeping angel and saw his face looked ashen except for a hectic flush about his cheeks. He was wrapped in a thick comforter but still trembled. “Shit, Aziraphale,” he muttered, and quickly crossed the room to crouch at his angel’s side.

Crowley had seen enough of humans to know that it was customary to rest a hand against an ill person’s forehead. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but perhaps the touch would ease some of the painful tension gathered in the angel’s face. As soon as his hand pressed against Aziraphale’s skin, though, he realized what the gesture was for; Aziraphale’s face felt far too warm. _Fever,_ Crowley realized. _He has a fever._ He was trying to think of what he was supposed to do next (something about a thermometer and a cool flannel, right?) when Aziraphale made a small, painful sound and cracked open his eyes.

As soon as he saw the demon at his bedside, his face visibly relaxed. “Crowley,” he sighed, letting his eyes drift closed again. Crowley instinctively ran his fingers through the angel’s tousled hair, and this move seemed to be correct because a small sound of relief slipped from Aziraphale’s parted lips. He leaned into the touch and opened his eyes again. “Thank you so much for coming, dearest. I’m sorry to ask for your help with something so unpleasant…”

“Oh hush, angel,” Crowley chided, cutting him off. “We both know if I was the one bedridden, you wouldn’t leave my side until I was up and about again. I don’t intend to do anything less.”

  
Aziraphale’s eyes got misty and Crowley quickly looked away and kept talking before his angel could get all effusive and grateful on him. “But anyway...I’m not really sure how to do all this...caring stuff. What do you need? Water? Tea? One of those damp cloths on your forehead?”

Aziraphale blinked away the moisture from his eyes and gave Crowley one of his looks that was so endearing the demon almost wanted to gag...if he wasn’t so busy stuffing down the butterflies fluttering about in his chest. “Oh, that would feel wonderful actually. Would you mind?”

Crowley swallowed the swelling of affection in his throat and managed to sound nonchalant when he said, “Yeah, ‘course.” He miracled up a chilled, damp flannel, folded it to be the right shape, and laid it across Aziraphale’s forehead as he’d seen people do on television. Aziraphale was lying on his side, though, so in order to stop the cloth from falling off, he kept his hand resting against the angel’s brow.

Aziraphale sighed and his face began to relax a bit. “Oh, thank you dearest,” he breathed, his eyes drifting closed again. “So soothing…”

Crowley forgot play it cool for a moment and smiled fondly, brining his free hand up to stroke the sick angel’s cheek. He was pleased to hear Aziraphale’s breathing becoming deeper and more even. “Anything else I can do for you, sweetheart?” He was surprised at the endearment on his tongue and to find that he actually meant it when he said “anything.” In this moment, he would go to Alpha Centauri and back if it could help his angel feel well again.

“Stay?” Aziraphale murmured, his eyes fluttering open. Crowley nodded, then slipped off his shoes, gently slid Aziraphale over a bit, and settled in beside him on the bed. The angel sighed again and nestled against the demon’s side. “You’re warm,” he mumbled.

Crowley re-situated the flannel on his angel’s forehead and bent down to kiss his cheek. “That’s what you get when you fall for a servant of hell, angel,” he joked, mostly to himself as Aziraphale was nearly asleep.

Once Aziraphale was sleeping soundly, Crowley took the opportunity to pull out his phone and do some research on how to care for a feverish angel--not that there was any information on that topic specifically. He was sure Aziraphale would know exactly what to do if their positions were reversed, and he was just as sure that if he kept trying to care for his angel without a bit of background reading, he would quite thoroughly muck up the whole process.

Aziraphale slept for several hours while Crowley finished his research and watched a Golden Girls marathon on the angel’s new flat screen television. It looked anachronistic in the otherwise old and dusty flat above the bookshop, but Crowley spent so much time in the shop these days that Aziraphale had wanted to give his demon something to do in the evenings while he was reading. Crowley was even more grateful for that generosity now that he was determined to stay here until Aziraphale was well again.

Crowley was chuckling at the television when the angel began to whimper and then cry out on the bed beside him.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley turned off the television with a harsh flick of his wrist and then brought his hands down to cup his angel’s face. The skin, which had been too warm before, was now hot to the touch, and Aziraphale’s brow was furrowed in pain. “Shit,” he cursed and miracled a fresh cold flannel into one hand while pulling the angel up to rest against his chest with the other.

“Zira, angel, wake up.” Crowley whispered urgently as he wiped his angel’s forehead and cheeks with the cold cloth. He was relieved when his eyes fluttered open.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, his fever-bright eyes searching for the demon’s own. He reached up a trembling hand and Crowley caught and held the too-warm palm. He pulled Aziraphale’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles lightly.

“It’s alright, Angel,” He soothed, brushing his fingers over Aziraphale’s flushed cheeks. “I’m here. I’ll be right here until you’re well again.” Crowley gave him a little squeeze to emphasize just how closely he meant to keep watch over him.

Aziraphale relaxed a bit under his demon’s care, but he still shook and small whimpers escaped his throat. “I...it hurts, Crowley....I…”

Crowley’s heart, already so devoted to his angel, melted as his lover dissolved into a fit of coughing. He whisked a glass of water from the bedside table and tipped it gently to Aziraphale’s lips. This symptom was new and, according to the internet at least, was something he needed to keep a close watch on lest his angel develop a condition called peh-nemonia.

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes closed when the glass was taken away and turned his head into Crowley’s chest. “Thank you. I’m....so sorry my dear, I just…”

Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek again and gently turned his face so they could look each other in the eye. The love in Crowley’s face broke down any attempt at composure the angel had left. The horrible pain in his head, the aches radiating from his joints, the strange combination of chills and heat--how did humans endure this more than once in a short lifetime? He felt his eyes fill with tears.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sobbed quietly, “I...I feel so unwell.”

Crowley pulled his weeping angel closer until he was cradling him fully against his chest. He continued to bathe Aziraphale’s brow with the flannel, which knew what was best for it and stayed as cool as it possibly could, and occasionally wiped the angel’s tear-stained cheeks as well. All the while he murmured the kind of sweet little words he imagined Aziraphale would whisper if their roles were reversed.

Aziraphale calmed after a while and Crowely felt his lover slowly go limp, the angel’s head resting against his collarbone. “That’s it, angel, just rest.” He began stroking Aziraphale’s hair. “I’ve done some research while you were sleeping. Whatever this fever throws at us, I’ll...well, I’ll give it hell!” He smirked at his own joke and was pleased when Aziraphale chuckled as well.

“We should start with more water and paracetamol. Not sure if it’ll help you, but it reduces pain and brings down a fever for humans. Can’t hurt, right?”

Aziraphale nodded and gave him a small smile.

Crowely lowered his angel back against the pillows, encouraged by this positive response. “And tea. Quite extraordinary amounts of tea...with honey. And broth! There’s something called bone broth that seems to be very healing according to the websites. Oh! And if your head is hurting you…” Crowley proudly pressed his fingers into the angel’s temples and began to massage slow circles there. He’d found a youtube clip of this and thought it looked lovely and intimate (not that he’d ever admit this was so appealing to him).

Aziraphale seemed to agree, as more of the tension drained from his face. “Mmmmmm...oh Crowley that really does help,” he murmured.

The demon felt that little swelling in his chest again. He leaned down to kiss his angel’s cheek, then retrieved the bottle of fever reducer, which had not been there a moment before, from the bedside table. As Aziraphale rolled sideways to swallow the pills, Crowely took the opportunity to move one hand to his neck and begin massaging there as well. The website where he’d learned to do this had warned that fever patients might be so sensitive that rubbing their muscles could be more painful than soothing, but this didn’t seem to be the case for his angel. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment before fixing Crowley with that look again.

“Darling, thank you. That feels wonderful.” A little smile played across Aziraphale’s lips and Crowley was pleased to see a hint of teasing in his eyes. “Am I correct in inferring that you, dastardly fiend that you are, did actual research on how to take care of me while I’m ill?”

Crowley blushed and became very interested in the cracked crown molding above the bed. “Well, I...I mean I would have asked you for help, but...that seemed a conflict of interest and...”

“My wily old serpent,” Aziraphale crooned, cutting him off. He reached up and brushed a bit of hair behind Crowley’s ear. “Thank you.”

Crowley continued to study the crack, feeling rather embarrassed now that Aziraphale was cognizant enough to notice how overtly affectionate he was acting, but he still caught and held Aziraphale’s hand as it came back to rest on the bed. “Yer welcome,” he muttered. “So, uh, what do you need next? I can miracle up some of that broth stuff?”

“More sleep, I think, now that my head feels better” He gave Crowley’s hand a grateful squeeze then resettled himself against the pillows. “But I keep getting rather cold. Perhaps you could…?”

Before his angel could finish the thought, Crowley had climbed under the covers and cuddled him against his chest. “Would you like me to keep doing the, er, massage thing?” He very much appreciated the way his angel seemed to melt under those touches and stored that information away for use in more pleasant circumstances.

“Mmm, if you like. But this,” he tangled his feet between Crowley’s legs and gave his shoulder a little squeeze, “is all I need for now.”

Crowley let himself smile and decided to compromise by running his hand through his angel’s hair and occasionally kissing his forehead. Later he was fully planning on showing Aziraphale every trick the internet could offer in speeding his recovery, but for now he decided, this was all he needed as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I really hope you like it, and please let me know if you did! I feel like I'm running out of good fic in this fandom (although I know there's more almost every day!), so if you have recommendations, I'd love them! <3


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